


I Know a Guy (Better Than You Think)

by Zoom Zoom (PaperLillyWebs)



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, BAMF Gavin Free, Crew as Family, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationships, Trans Jack Pattillo, action movie sniper stunts, boys being gay, good wholesome platonic crew, he always be trans in my gta stuff, just let my boys be happy alright, minor descriptions of blood and violence, not enough jeremy i'm so sorry i promise i love him, this is mostly fluff, wanted secret mavin cause freewood is full of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 09:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperLillyWebs/pseuds/Zoom%20Zoom
Summary: By this point, Gavin is sitting in Michael’s lap for movie nights. Stealing bites of whatever Michael is eating. Holding his fucking hand when they go out for bevs.The crew still doesn't seem toget it.edit 10/20/2020: WILL BE REWORKED TO REMOVE R COMPLETELY
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones
Comments: 57
Kudos: 287





	I Know a Guy (Better Than You Think)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vagrant_Blvrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Partners in Crime](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851375) by [missingnowrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnowrites/pseuds/missingnowrites). 



> A sort of remix of what should have been the sequel to [Black Blood From Blacker Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740778) (you don't need to read that one to understand this)
> 
> Another car in the train of FAHC fic dedicated to Vagrant. Choo choo, bitch.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This RPF fic follows Achievement Hunter's fanfiction guidelines to the best of my knowledge and is in no way intended to reflect the real people. These characters are fictitious, based on their GTA personas, and any inspiration taken from their lives has been given careful consideration.

“I know a guy.”

Michael regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, as the table quiets and slowly turns to look at him, until it’s just his fuck-up hanging in the air between them.

“You ‘know a guy’,” Geoff repeats slowly, drumming his fingers on the table. He isn’t outwardly suspicious, but Michael’s been around since before the Fakes even had a name, and he knows what Ramsey’s cold calculation looks like, aimed in his direction.

Michael sighs defeatedly. “If we still need one.”

Across the table, Jack rapidly taps her pencil on her notebook, her head tilted not unlike the strays Ray keeps feeding in the alley. “An old contact?” she asks, as if chewing the words.

“Yeah,” Michael says, because it isn’t exactly a lie. Even Ray has set aside his 3DS to stare at him, bored eyes instead alight with curiosity, and Michael darts his gaze away.

Michael never volunteers contacts. Ray has as many as he has bullets, but all of Michael’s “old friends” are Geoff’s, and everyone in the room knows it. Michael has been under Geoff’s wing for almost a decade, and that kind of trust shows: mi amigo es su amigo, and all that.

And Michael is a fucking idiot, isn’t he? He’s careful in ways Geoff isn’t, has always been the voice of almost-reason, but he’d had no control over his words, just then. Ray’s benched from a fractured wrist (though it doesn’t seem to have affected his ability to play Animal Crossing) and they can’t exactly call up Mica with a week before the heist, and Michael’s normally-careful brain just fucking shut off. Like it wouldn’t mean giving up a secret he’s been keeping for longer than he’s been keeping Geoff’s. 

Geoff leans back in his chair, and other bosses would have Michael interrogated, probably break a few of his fingers, maybe shoot this contact just on principal, but this is Geoff Ramsey and Michael Jones, and you don’t get one without the other.

“And you trust them?” is all he asks.

No going back now. “For this? Absolutely.”

Geoff simply nods, getting to his feet. “Get in touch with them, tell them the cut. If they bite, we’ll try ‘em out on Thursday.” It’s a clear dismissal from the meeting, and Michael resigns himself as Ray hood-slides over the table as soon as the Gents are out of sight. 

He settles on the edge of the table and hooks a foot through the arm of Michael’s chair. 

“Don’t,” Michael warns, but Ray just smiles wider.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” His laugh undermines his terse words, leaving Michael to look at his best friend and actually consider spilling the beans. But it isn’t his secret to tell.

“Being a fucking idiot, apparently.”

“Keeping a contact from Geoff is ballsy. How long have you been sitting on them?”

Which is a lovely mental image that Michael quickly banishes. “Not long,” he lies, because lying is easier, and Ray has the decency not to point it out.

He does pull him closer with his foot, nonchalantly scratching his chin and showing off the bright pink cast on his right arm. “Why would Mogar have a secret sniper? Unless they’re from before the Fakes.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, yanking Ray’s foot away by his pantleg. “You’re not subtle.”

“Neither are you,” Ray retorts immediately. “Seriously, Michael, what the fuck?”

He wilts under Ray’s suddenly-hurt frown. "It’s not that deep. We met outside of work, we... go for drinks sometimes. I didn’t know they were a sniper at first.” Again, not entirely untrue. “I don’t even know their alias, so I never felt the need to bring it up to Geoff.”

Ray’s frown deepens. “I trust you, dude, but this seems like a lot of blind faith.”

It does, doesn’t it.

Michael pushes open the faded blue door that’s known him for perhaps too many years, and only properly relaxes when it slides shut behind him. The hall is dark but the kitchen light is on, like it always is, and despite how tense he is, the soft creak of the hardwood floors is calming. 

He considers showering before facing his shit decisions, but he can never keep himself away for long. He drops his coat by the door and toes out of his sneakers, following the light to Gavin sat at the kitchen table, a box of cold pizza half falling off the counter. 

Inhaling slowly, Michael moves to stand behind him, dropping his face into Gavin’s hair. Gavin isn’t stupid, must have heard him come in, but he still jumps when Michael slumps his arms over his shoulders.

“Micool!” he says happily, trying to turn his head to kiss him, but Michael grunts and follows the movement, content to hide in the back of Gavin’s head for eternity. “Well, fuck you too, I guess.”

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m wallowing.”

Gavin snorts and goes back to his keyboard. “Did Ray finally get you back for the blue milk prank?”

No, and Michael fears the day he does. “Nah, but I fucked up about as bad.”

The typing slows. “What, did you get your knob stuck in a blender?”

Despite himself, Michael smiles into his crown. “Fuck you, if anybody’s gonna cock it up that badly, it’s you.”

“I resent your accusations.” Gavin snaps his laptop closed, Michael leaning back enough to let him turn around and pull one leg up onto the chair. “What’d you do that’s so bad, then?”

Gavin looks tired, Michael sees, now that they’re facing each other properly. Tail end of a job, then, his circles dark and bangs lank, but it never takes long for him to bounce back. They’ve been at this long enough that Michael knows it’ll take two days, tops, of sleeping and drinking an unhealthy amount of Pipper MD for Gavin’s fringe to be back to its arrogant quiff, and he'll be staying up late on his computer in their bed instead of sleeplessly hiding at their kitchen table. 

Gavin frowns, reaching up to smooth the wrinkles between Michael’s brows. Which only makes him feel worse, because this is a peace he isn’t sure he’s ready to share yet. 

“Geoff wants you to try out for a job.”

He freezes, staring at Michael. They keep themselves separate from work, even though they don’t keep secrets, and the _Fakes_ and Gavin have always been separate, with only Michael linking them. Michael has his job, his crew, his family, and then across the city in a crappy brownstone they can’t afford better than, Michael has Gavin.

Gavin, who squawks and nearly knocks over the chair as he shoots to his feet. “Micool! A tryout?”

He sighs, long and deep. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Gavin leans over the chair to squint at him.

“Did you tell them about us?”

“No, I’m not a fucking idiot. They think you’re an old contact.”

“One that Geoff doesn’t know about?”

Michael sighs again. “I’m working on that.”

They meet on neutral ground, at a shooting range run by an old Korean woman that not even Ray will fuck with, smack in the middle of a strip of no man’s land between La Puerta and Vespucci. Yumi doesn’t care what colours you fly, as long as you don’t bring your beefs into the range, and it shows just how little Geoff knows about Gavin that he even felt the need for such precautions.

Michael is a little offended, but he knows it’s not a lack of trust in _him._ That Michael has never actually been on a job with Gavin —one of the few whole-truths he’d given Geoff— has the entire crew on edge about what kind of professional this “Gavin Free from Britain” is. 

He knows Gavin would never shoot anyone close to him —it’s been _six years_ of whatever the fuck they are— but Michael still has to remind himself that he’s in love with the idiot, and can’t throw Gavin out the window. Even when he shows up in sinfully-tight skinny jeans and a white polo with a _gold chain_ under the popped collar. 

Geoff is sat on a folding table pulled against the wall with his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation, but Michael knows better than to dismiss his carefully focussed eyes, the way he watches Gavin make nice with Yumi at the range counter. He raises a brow at the guitar case slung over Gavin’s shoulders and turns to Michael. “That him?”

Michael hums an affirmative, leaning next to him, and he honestly doesn’t know if Gavin’s gold persona is going to help him here. It’s better than the scruffy pickpocket he usually presents himself as, but he’s a far cry from Ray or even Mica, and he’ll be under far more scrutiny than either of them had been: anyone that held Michael’s interest for long enough to be considered _friend,_ holds Geoff’s interest for entirely different reasons. 

Yumi deadpans something and Gavin throws his head back to laugh, answering in rapid Korean. Yumi’s gaze flicks over Gavin’s shoulder, and only then does he turn to them stood by the wall. His smile slips into something just that side of smarmy to sink into Geoff’s expectations, pushing off the counter and walking over to them.

“‘Ello, loves,” he says, his accent exaggerated and more posh than the quiet drawl Michael is used to. “I promised Yumi I’d help her with her dinner, so do you mind if we breeze through this?”

“Gavin,” Michael sighs, but Gavin just grins at him. 

Geoff claps his hands together and hops to his feet, his bowtie and top button undone, but he doesn’t lose any of his Kingpin regality, any of the respect someone like Ramsey demands. “Yeah, why not, it’s not like this is important or anything.” He smiles crookedly, dangerously; Gavin doesn’t shirk, meeting his eye and returning the smile. “Jones tell you the cut?” Geoff asks, as Gavin slips the case from his back and swings it onto the table next to Michael. He clicks it open and starts putting his rifle together, pulling pieces from custom-cut foam that has Geoff’s eyebrows doing a funny little dance.

Gavin doesn’t answer until he’s spinning the barrel into place. “Cut’s not important.”

“Oh?” Geoff returns blandly, schooling his expression and putting his hands into his pockets. Gavin slots in a small magazine, the clack echoing in the tension of the empty range. “Just that tickled pink to be working with us?”

“To be working with Michael.” Gavin grins blindingly and Geoff huffs out a laugh, even as Michael glares. 

“‘Worked with him before?” Geoff asks, though he knows the answer.

And Gavin knows he knows, but smiles all the while, hefting his rifle and trotting to the first lane. “Nah, 'never had the chance,” he says, as Geoff follows with a dangerous bounce in his step. “‘Bit funny doing a trial in a range though, innit?” 

Geoff hmms, a critical eye on Gavin propping his rifle on the counter and leaning into the scope, barrel a clean line down the lane to the paper target. “Neutral ground to start. Phase two will be in much tougher conditions.”

Gavin flicks his eyes back, winking at Michael. “Even with Micool’s vouch?”

Geoff’s brows shoot up, mouthing ‘Micool?’ around a smirk, and Michael wishes he had learned to keep his mouth shut. “Even with Michael’s vouch. His trust in you is a goddamn miracle, and I fancy seeing that for myself.”

“Aw, Michael knows I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Gavin pulls the trigger.

Michael hadn’t seen him take the safety off (he wonders if he ever had it on), and Geoff, to his credit, doesn’t flinch even without earplugs.

He whistles, lets Gavin fire three more rounds before hitting the target retrieval button with his elbow. The pulley system squeaks loud enough that Yumi starts muttering behind them about shitty American surplus, but it slowly brings the target to them all the same. Geoff leans onto the counter and asks Gavin something too quiet for Michael to hear; his answering snicker has Michael on high alert, before he forces himself to calm down and remember that he trusts both of these men with his life, and with each other’s. 

Not that Geoff trusts Gavin with anything, yet, but Gavin knows enough about the man that he trusts him with _Michael,_ trusts the whole crew with Michael, and that isn’t something he should let himself forget.

‘Doesn’t make him any less suspicious.

Geoff hits the button again and makes a few hmming noises, inspecting the target; Michael can’t see it from this angle, but he won’t give either of them the satisfaction of moving to look.

Gavin rests the recoil pad over his shoulder like a douche and shoots Michael another wink before turning his smirk to Geoff. “Did I pass?” he asks brightly, as Geoff reaches over the counter to tear the target off the line.

“Are you trying to woo me, Mr. Free?” Geoff turns the paper so Michael can see, and his idiot fucking boyfriend has shot a heart around the target’s, like he wasn’t the one to insist on this secret keeping in the first place. 

He must keep his expression under control enough to satisfy Geoff, who nods and hands the paper to Gavin with an amused shake of his head. “Yeah, you passed, kid. Tomorrow, we’ll try something a bit harder, hm?”

“Sorry, m'not interested in my boss' cock.”

Michael buries his face in his hands, even as Geoff cackles. “Oh, you’ll fit right in. Meet us here at seven pm, don’t be late. Michael.”

He pats Michael on the shoulder and gives Gavin a two-fingered salute, before leaving them on the floor to say goodbye to Yumi. And Geoff is a competitive motherfucker, so he says farewell in Korean while staring directly at Gavin; Gavin hasn't moved from his lane, and waves back smugly. 

Michael sighs at Gavin's shiny grin, and they don't say anything to each other before he follows Geoff to the car.

Gavin hangs the target in their hall, in a shitty dollar-store frame that’s too big and doesn't hang straight. 

“It’s _romantic,”_ he says giggling, and Michael turns up the volume on his switch to drown him out.

"Did I pass?" 

Midnight wind buffets them so hard it threatens to knock them clean off the crane Geoff had somehow managed to convince them to climb, and Michael is keenly aware that he's the only one without his lifeline clipped. "In case Free tries anything," Geoff had said as they were leaving, and Michael supposes he should be flattered Geoff trusts his balance so much, but _no._

Ten feet down the jib from Michael, Gavin lies on his stomach behind his rifle with Geoff standing over him, both their attention on the closest building. Even with the lights on the roof, Michael can’t see shit, but he's been on enough hits to know what it should look like: a drug deal gone wrong, five men yelling and panicking around their downed sixth – a frontman that had gotten on the Fakes' bad side. And normally Michael would relish in seeing corrupt blood painting the asphalt, but he can't find the time, with Geoff so close to Gavin. 

Truthfully, Geoff barely notices him, as his hooded eyes brighten in the Los Santos swelt, almost red with their justice done. Michael can't remember the frontman's name, he's not sure if he ever learned it in the first place, but Michael knows just how much his split blood means to Geoff. 

A stroke of genius, Geoff had called it when he had slid into the car next to Michael, having Gavin finish his tryout by shooting the man that had benched Ray. Just desserts, or something like that. 

"Yeah, you passed," Geoff says gruffly, like the satisfaction isn't obvious in his voice, in his bloodlust-filled smile. 

Not that Gavin is looking, still leant over his scope and surely enjoying the panicking crew members just as much: Michael's family is his family, even if they don't know it yet. 

God, Michael loves him. 

“You fucked up,” Ray whispers to him, as Geoff stands in the doorway and glares at Michael like he’d poured all the booze down the bathroom sink. It's a quiet night in the base, Matt off god knows where and Jack somehow managing to sleep despite the heist on the horizon, and Michael had plopped himself down next to Ray in the living room so many hours ago that he no longer knows what time it is.

After eight o'clock, his brain supplies, because Geoff is _here_ and not meeting with Gavin to officially hire him for the heist. Geoff hasn’t said a word since he slammed into the apartment, but that’s not exactly out of the norm, until he’d stopped by the living room and scowled like, well, _that._

Michael idly wonders if Gavin is home already, or if he should stay tucked in Ray's pocket for a while longer. 

Geoff makes the decision for him, as his glare falters and he tries to hide a flicker of betrayal from behind his eyes. "Office. Now, " he snaps, spinning cleanly on his heel to stalk down the hall. 

Michael forces his stomach to settle. Gavin wouldn't have said anything _too_ incriminating, and Geoff has called him to his "office" enough times that this should be routine. The thought doesn't help, because that hurt had never been aimed _at_ him, before. 

Ray slowly turns to look at him, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair. "Dude, what the fuck did you do?" 

Taking a steadying breath, Michael heaves himself to his feet and gently shoves Ray's head. "'Dunno," he says with a reassuring smile. "He probably found out I'm the one that replaced all the buckshot with peppercorns." Michael is a hardened criminal, and _no,_ the hallway isn't any more daunting than usual, but he still drags his feet as Ray calls behind him,

"That was _you?"_

The door is open a crack, should look inviting, but that door had never closed right, another task on their long list of "Things We'll Get to Someday". Michael pushes into the room without knocking, to Geoff sitting dramatically behind his oak desk with his hands tented underneath his chin.

"Office" is a kind way of describing the room Geoff disappears to when the crew gets to be too much, and where staples and pens and whatever the fuck else should be, Geoff has an organised collection of fine whiskeys. 

He's not drinking now, though, which sets off every single one of Michael's alarms. He slowly sits across from Geoff, leaving his boss to work through his theatrics, because he knows better than to interrupt and saddle himself with even more anger. 

Geoff finally lowers his hands, seeming to have better control of his emotions, but it still takes several minutes of Michael squirming in his seat for Geoff to take pity on him. 

"You're friends with the goddamn Creeper."

Ah. That isn't something explained away easily. 

"In my defense, I didn't know who he was when I met him."

"'Brought me the goddamn Creeper, _armed,_ without telling me who he was _, twice."_

"He wouldn't have hurt you."

"That's not the point!" Geoff flails, nearly knocking over a folder that’s only on his desk for show. "Why the fuck do you know the Creeper? Why is he— like that?"

Michael can't help himself. "Like what? Gold? Or gay?"

"Both!"

"'Didn't take you for a homophobe, Geoffry." Geoff's expression wiggles, almost breaks, and Michael knows that they're okay. He sits forward with a smile. "Would you have given him a shot if I told you who he was?"

"Of fucking course not!"

"Do you really believe all the gossip, then?"

"That's all anybody knows about him," Geoff sighs, but his lips are twitching. “What the fuck possessed you to offer him up, if you weren’t going to tell us?”

Rubbing his jaw, Michael considers this. He does owe Geoff, just about everything good in his life, and if it weren’t Gavin involved in this every which way, he would feel worse — not that he doesn’t feel bad now, because it’s been Ramsey and Jones since he was twenty-two. “Like I told Ray,” he starts carefully, “we met outside of work. ‘Known him for a while. And, honestly, who else would we have called in? Gibson?”

He knows he’d made the right decision when Geoff’s shoulders slump and he shakes his head fondly. "Got any other freak friends I should know about?"

Michael hmms. "There's this guy, a real idiot with a stupid moustache, I think his name is Ramsey? He won't leave me the fuck al—"

Geoff throws a just-for-decoration pencil cup at him. "Alright, alright, get the fuck out." 

"I'm headed home for the night, then,” he laughs, getting to his feet. 

Shaking his head again, Geoff waves him to the door. "Tell that fucker on my couch to go home, too."

"Aye aye, boss."

"And Michael?" He pauses in the doorway, and then, just to make him feel worse, to feel _better,_ Geoff asks, "You trust him?"

"Unquestionably."

The Fakes aren’t known for their subtlety, for stealth heists or espionage, but perhaps that’s what makes them so _effective_ when they need to. 

And Michael much prefers blowing stuff up, be it with rocket launchers or homemade grenades, but he can sneak when necessary. Besides, Michael is always boots-on-the-ground, the only member that is always in the thick of it, because this is where he shines; pair him with Geoff, who’s been in this business since he could walk, and the Fakes have never been linked to a job that didn’t go up in flames by the end.

_“You’re a prick,”_ Gavin mumbles into the comm as Michael and Geoff duck around the corner so the receptionist of the squat apartment building they’re heisting doesn’t see them make for the stairs.

Ray laughs in their ears, having the time of his life back at base and not having to do a goddamn thing for them. Geoff giggle-snorts like a moron, too amused to tell them to cut the shit. 

At the first landing, Michael glances out the window to the gallery across the street, and he can only see the shadow of the barrel of Gavin’s rifle, but the knowledge that he’s _there_ settles the nerves he usually carries on jobs. It feels good, knowing whose eyes are keeping them safe.

_“I’m just saying, get yourself a Browning and—”_

_“Fuck your browning and your shitty American rifles, you gammy sausage,”_ Gavin interrupts, with the edge in his voice that he’s actually annoyed. Ray isn’t known for his self-preservation, and goading Gavin so dangerously, in the middle of a job no less, is not even close to the stupidest thing he’s done, and Michael hates how well they’re getting along already. Then again, he always knew they would. 

Ray just laughs harder. _“Fucking what? Ramsey, do you have any idea what he’s saying?”_

“Not even a little bit.” Geoff tosses Michael the keys for the target’s apartment and continues past the door to the other end of the hall, setting up watch on the opposite staircase. Michael listens at the door to make sure no one’s there before silently letting himself in.

_“Back on topic, gentlemen,”_ Jack says blandly, with the ferocious revving of the Roosevelt in the background. _“Matt says there’s a cruiser inbound. Their radios are jammed, but they must have heard something, they should be at location in two minutes.”_

Geoff swears. Nearly retching at the stench of home-brewed chemicals, Michael picks up the pace and makes quick work of checking all the rooms. There’s a primitive distiller in the corner of the living room, and the bathroom is a right mess; he doesn’t know much about drugs, to be honest, but he’d bet massive amounts of Geoff’s money that they’re cooking meth in the bathtub. 

_“Jack, there’s no one on cops; any chance you can lead them away?”_ Geoff asks.

A grunt, tires squealing. _“Kind of occupied at the moment, boss.”_

With Jack goose-chasing the target, Michael knows they have less than a minute to get what they came for and get back out. Which sounds easy enough on paper, when he finds the cellphone he’s after plugged in in the kitchen power socket, but Matt had given him very specific instructions on how to copy the data off the phone onto the burner he fishes out of his pocket, and there’s no _time._

He yanks out the power cable and connects the two phones, flicking through the settings just as red and blue begins to flash outside the window across from him. No sirens yet, they must be just checking out a complaint call, perhaps one of the neighbors had been suspicious of Matt’s van parked across the street. The silence does nothing for Michael’s mounting anxiety, when he can hear the cops get out of their car and the progress bar on the phones isn’t even halfway. 

The talking of the cops cuts off abruptly with two matching thuds, Michael freezing at the disgusting kitchen counter. 

_“Don’t worry about it, Geoffry,”_ Gavin says, somehow not smug at all as something warm and proud swells in Michael’s chest. 

_“. . . clean shot,”_ Ray admits grudgingly, even though he must have seen footage from Gavin’s tryout.

_“Free, was that you?”_ Geoff crows, as the phone in Michael’s hand beeps its completion. He tears out the cable and puts everything back as he found it, before joining Geoff in the hall. They waste no time in getting to the street, avoiding the receptionist by ducking out an exit-only door, and hurry to Matt’s van across the street.

_“Who else would it be?”_ Gavin snarks, as Geoff pauses just long enough to take a picture of the mess Gavin’s made of the asphalt around the still-flashing cruiser. 

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” Geoff returns gleefully, snapping another photo on his way to the passenger side. Michael salutes at Gavin’s window, and Gavin salutes back.

Gavin joins two more heists while Ray heals and works through physical therapy, and by then, he’s ingrained himself in the Fakes so thoroughly that he just. Sticks around. Michael knew that this’d be how it worked out, knew that as soon as Gavin got a hold of his family, he wouldn’t let go, and part of him is sad he hadn’t introduced them all sooner. 

The groupchat Gavin has with everyone sans Michael, with the sole purpose of roasting him behind his back, reminds him why it had taken so many years.

Once Ray is back on overwatch, somehow even better than before, Geoff starts training Gavin up on negotiations. Despite his fumbling speech when excited, Gavin has always had a silver tongue, and takes to anything Geoff throws at him like a particularly dangerous duck to water. Jack teaches him to fix up his bike, shows him how to suture neater and cleaner, and Michael watches the two halves of his life seamlessly connect. 

“We can tell them. If you wanna.”

Michael looks up from his switch to Gavin on the floor on the other side of the coffeetable, gaze set on whatever he’s working on on his laptop. “Tell who what?”

“The crew. About us.” He continues to type, but that he won’t meet Michael’s eyes betrays how nervous he actually is. It had been Gavin to suggest keeping it on the downlow, all those years ago; they’d been twenty-one and stupid, Gavin fresh out of college and Michael newly in with Ramsey’s startup, and they’d agreed to keep their names on the streets as far apart as possible. Then Geoff had pulled in Jack, and Ray, and Matt and Lindsay, and by the time Michael decided they were family, it’d been so many years that he still doesn’t know how to bring it up. 

“Are you sure, Gav?”

His typing pauses, face lit eerily by the screen. “I trust them. I don’t like it being so tense when we’re around them.”

Michael wouldn’t so much call it tense, as he would call it careful. When they’re home, they’re barely ever _not_ touching, but around the crew, they keep their distance from each other. And it hadn’t really put a damper on their relationship, but it still sucks not being able to wrap an arm around Gavin on movie nights, or call him stupid pet names, or check up on him after heists. 

“How should we tell them?” Michael wonders, dropping his switch onto his chest. 

“‘Dunno. Surely they already suspect.” He closes his laptop and stretches, hauling himself to the couch; Michael barely has time to move his switch to the coffeetable before Gavin drops himself onto him with an _oof._ “You think Geoff’ll blow a fuse?”

Michael laughs and rucks up Gavin’s shirt to land a pinch to his ribs, Gavin squawking and trying to roll away. He catches him before he hits the floor, pulling Gavin back onto his chest properly. “Ray’s gonna be pissssed.”

Grinning down at him, Gavin agrees with a sloppy kiss to his lips.

Geoff makes the crew go out at least once a week together, usually the bar three blocks away with a name as filthy as the street it lives on. By some sort of miracle, Geoff has eased back on the alcohol himself, content to watch his idiot crew get drunk around him while sipping at diet cokes and other such atrocities. 

It’s only been a few days since their little talk on the couch, but it’s the first night with the crew while not prepping for their upcoming heist, and Gavin takes full advantage of it by flopping down next to Michael in the booth and slithering under his arm. Michael has that moment of anxiety, the instinct to push him away, but he forces himself to calm down; this is it, this is them making it obvious, and he doesn’t think his family will be _upset,_ but he isn’t sure what to expect otherwise.

For a few hours, it’s fine, aside from a couple of eyebrow-waggles and an almost-lewd comment from Geoff, but it’s _fine,_ and Michael lets himself relax with Gavin’s chin fit snugly on his shoulder.

Then, after another round of shots, when Gavin presses his forehead to Michael’s collarbone against the burn of the tequila, Ray asks loudly, “Aww, when’s the wedding?” 

Geoff lets out a hyena cackle, while Ray doesn’t even bother looking up from his DS as he grins at his own joke. 

Gavin grunts and wraps himself around Michael’s waist, nearly making him knock over the bottle in his hand. “When he finally proposes.”

“I thought you didn’t want to lose your British Citizenship,” Michael retorts, saving his beer and taking a drink. And the crew just laughs.

“Start with a date, maybe,” Geoff snorts, pulling Michael up short. He looks around at each of them, and it dawns on him that none of them _believe him._

“God, you’re gonna break Lindsay’s heart,” Jack adds, flagging down their server for the tab.

Frowning, Gavin murmurs to Michael, “Isn’t she seeing Barbara?”

Luckily, Gavin catches on twenty minutes later as he’s sliding into the car with Michael, staring blankly at the road ahead of them. Michael had already started the car waiting for him to come back from the bathroom, but doesn’t put it in drive when Gavin doesn’t immediately snap out of it.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Dude, what the fuck happened.”

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before answering. “Ray cornered me in the loo, told me all of your favourite restaurants.”

It’s a little frustrating, that their crew is so amused by the thought of either of them settling down, but the humour isn’t lost on him either. “Yeah, he’s pretty stupid,” he laughs.

“It’s not funny, Micool!” Gavin dramatically flings an arm over his eyes. “After all my stressing about it, they don’t even believe us!”

“I mean, it’s pretty funny.”

Gavin laughs into his arm.

Then it becomes a game. See how far they can take it, how obvious they can make it, before any of them catch on. They stop hiding that Michael drives Gavin home, they leave meetings together, Michael stops pretending he doesn’t know exactly how Gavin likes his tea, or his DcMonalds order, or his favourite beer.

When Gavin comes in late to a meeting, he wheels his chair right up to Michael’s to drape himself over his shoulders, and of course Michael lets him. Geoff makes no attempt to hide his laughter, while Jack and Ray exchange a knowing eyeroll.

“Wot?” Gavin asks innocently.

“Nothing,” Ray says, turning back to his DS. “That’s just really gay.”

“I cuddle Michael all the time.”

Jack drums her fingers on the table and shakes her head. “Sure, Gav.”

“Hey, Michael, why is Gavin allowed to hug you, but I’m not?”

“Because I’m not fucking you, Ray.”

Giving up on being subtle, Jack throws her head back and laughs. “Of course Gavin’s the bottom.”

“I’m a switch, actually,” Gavin hums, and only smiles wider when they keep laughing.

They up the ante when Geoff somehow manages to snag the Vagabond. He’s as scary as the rumours say for all of an hour before they see him trip over a planter and quietly whisper, “Yikes,” and it only takes Gavin a day to wheedle his name out of him.

Ryan is as stupid as the rest of them, a dork and a nerd and a Georgian gentleman, and gets along like a house on fire with Gavin and Ray. Gavin somehow keys him up with stupid hypotheticals and pseudoscience, gooses him into stupid bets and letting his guard down, and Ray cackles along in the background. 

By this point, Gavin is sitting in Michael’s lap for movie nights. Stealing bites of whatever Michael is eating. Holding his fucking hand when they go out for bevs after their last setup before the next heist.

On their way to rob an art gallery blind, Ryan is in the back of the van with Michael, putting together his rifle and watching Michael through the slits in his mask. Michael watches back, trying to hide how impressed he is by the speed that Ryan preps his gear.

They haven’t said a word since leaving the base —Ryan isn’t much for conversation on jobs, unless Gavin has gotten dramatically under his skin— so Michael isn’t expecting it when he suddenly asks, “So when are you going to bang Gavin?”

Michael slowly looks up from Ryan’s hands to his face. Ryan is a dork, but he isn’t _stupid,_ not nearly as stupid as this. “Who says I haven’t.”

Waving his hand, Ryan laughs behind his mask. “All that sexual tension.”

“We’ve been dating for seven years.”

Ryan shakes his head and shrugs. “Gavin’s an idiot: if you don’t make the first move, nothing’ll happen.”

“Have a lot of experience with dating crew members, then?” He smiles in disbelief, checking out the front window to see where they are. Only a few more minutes to the gallery. 

“Nah, but I have experience with idiots.”

“Ryan the Matchmaking Guy, who knew.”

“Seriously, tell him you want to bone him before I lose my mind.”

Michael sighs, pulling his own mask down over his head as Jack jolts to a stop in the alley behind the gallery. “Just for you, Ryan.”

“They have a betting pool,” Gavin tells him a week later, pretzeled around Michael’s waist while he blows up a Warthog in Halo. 

Michael sighs and blows up another for good measure, because this is his life now. “Of course they do. ‘Fuckers probably think I’m with you tonight.”

“You _are_ with me.”

“‘Probably think we’re sitting on our hands and pining, and they’re pissed we’re being gay where we can’t see it.”

Gavin giggles and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “D’you think we can convince Geoff to put us on a stakeout together?”

“I’m not going on a stakeout with you, ever fucking again.”

“Oh, c’mon, it was fun, wunnit? I thought you liked doing it in publi—”

Michael shoves him off the couch.

The conniving, underhanded side of Gavin is fucking _thrilled_ that they can mess with their crew, their family, so easily. He’s been with the Fakes for almost two years now, and they still won’t hear of it when Michael insists they’re not pining. Geoff does start sticking them on jobs together, warning them not to fuck in the backseat with an eyebrow wiggle confirming his attempt at reverse psychology; Ray makes enough comments about them being blind as well as stupid, even when Michael straight up tells Geoff they need the night off for their anniversary dinner.

He rolls his eyes and agrees to put their assignment on hold. “Only if you actually get your heads out of your asses and make out or something.”

“I’ve literally been making out with Gavin everyday. I made out with him twenty minutes ago.”

Geoff laughs and waves him out of his office. 

Michael gets knocked with a bat in a scuffle with the Cockbytes, smashing his comm and knocking him to the ground. Geoff yells from across the street, trying to hold off an absolute tank of a man, and Jack is nowhere in sight, Ryan setting charges a block over in one of the Cockbytes’ safehouses. With Ray out of town helping Burnie, Gavin is holed up somewhere on overwatch, stuck under Geoff’s strict orders not to fire unless _absolutely necessary._

Michael’s attacker looms over him and yanks a pistol from the back of his pants, and Michael is too fucking dizzy to try and disarm him. 

With the deafening crack of a rifle, the man above him jerks back and collapses to the pavement, blood spraying across the dumpster behind him. Michael watches with a backseat terror, struggling to roll over just in time to see the man fighting Geoff go down just as easy. Three more gunshots, fired in quick succession, and the street is suddenly empty of everyone but him and Geoff. 

“Michael!” Jack skids to a stop next him and makes him roll back over, Michael belatedly realising that his head is bleeding. She checks his eyes quickly, then the split at his temple, but seems satisfied that he’s not going to die if he sits up, and helps him to lean against the wall. Distantly, they hear another crack of Gavin’s rifle, then another, then silence.

Geoff appears on Michael’s other side, handgun trained at the ground as he looks wildly up and down the street. “We’ve gotta move, someone’s bound to have called the cops by now.” He looks down at Michael with brows pinched in worry. “He alright?”

Jack nods shortly. “He’ll be fine, once Caleb checks him out. I’ve got the Roosevelt, where’s the Vagabond?”

Geoff whips out his phone, but movement catches their attention across the street, a figure lithely swinging down the fire escape between a boarded-up bodega and a dive bar. Michael recognises the rifle slung over their shoulder before he recognises their face, and only then does he relax enough for Jack to get a pad of gauze over his temple.

Gavin darts across the street and all but shoves past Geoff to help Jack get Michael to his feet. Years ago, when Gavin was just a hacker, Michael had tried to keep him out of this business of getting paid for blowing people’s heads off, but that squeamish Gavin is gone, replaced with dark and dangerous eyes that look over Michael’s wound with a fury he’s thankful to have never been on the other side of. 

Geoff mutters something about romantic tension as they pile the Lads into the backseat of the Roosevelt and wait for Ryan to join them. Gavin grips Michael’s hand the entire way back to base.

After a string of highly successful jobs, Geoff buys them a penthouse. Even with an unobstructed view of the Maize Bank and an infinity pool on the balcony, it’s the obscene number of bedrooms that makes Geoff choose this one over any of the others, any house they might have found in Vinewood.

“One for each of you,” he tells them, handing out keys and a budget for decorations. 

“Well, Micool and I’ll be sharing,” Gavin says with a smirk, “so maybe leave that last one open for any new meat.”

Geoff rolls his eyes and throws a key at him anyways. “And pigs’ll fly. You each have a bathroom, try not to run up my water bill.”

Without beds yet, only Geoff stays in the Penthouse that first week, while the others get their affairs in order. Gavin does arrange to get a bed for the room he won’t be sleeping in, a simple twin to shove into the corner and make space for all the desks and computers he intends to fill it with instead. When Michael decides to get a new mattress to replace the ancient one they’re currently sleeping on, Gavin loudly helps him pick it out while they sit on the balcony by the pool. 

The first night the entire crew sleeps in the Penthouse, Gavin doesn’t even try to hide that he goes to bed with Michael. He closes the door to his own bedroom and trots down the hall with a cheeky smile at the eyeroll Jack sends him from the living room. 

When Gavin comes out to breakfast in one of Michael’s shirts, Ray wolf whistles and Ryan snorts into his coffee. Neither Michael nor Gavin try to deny any of the jokes slung in their direction, they even agree with a few, but it flies over the crew’s heads.

“You guys are gross,” Ray laughs, stealing a slice of bacon from Gavin’s plate. Gavin knocks it back out of his hand and snatches it back, hmmphing. 

“I don’t sleep well without Michael anymore,” he announces, Geoff clapping him on the back.

“Careful, or you’ll make Michael explode, a guy can only take being blue-balled for so long.”

“He’s not blue-balling me,” Michael says over the lip of his mug, scanning the news on his phone. 

“And Geoff isn’t into pegging.”

“Ryan!”

Jack smirks knowingly from the other end of the table, and Gavin feeds Michael a bite of scrambled eggs. 

Geoff walks in on them, sat too close with their heads together and just _breathing._ A job gone to absolute shit, Michael in cuffs and Ray trapped in his roost, Gavin _on the ground_ , and Michael isn’t used to worrying about him like that, is used to Gavin being safe in a building far away from the action. Gavin isn’t stupid, knows how to hold his own, but none of them had been counting on the Corpirate having explosives. 

It had taken Caleb four hours to patch them all up. Thank god none of them are bedridden, but Michael still retreats to one of the back rooms with Gavin as soon as they can get away, sits him down on a box of spare cables and puts his hands on either side of his neck. 

Michael hasn’t breathed right since they’d heard the explosion over the comms, since he’d watched Gavin hit a wall twenty feet away. He still doesn’t breathe right, until Gavin’s forehead is pressed against his. 

Which is, of course, when Geoff pushes open the door.

He blinks in surprise at them across the dark room, as if he had expected them to be there making out; or maybe he had only expected one of them. Gavin doesn’t even look up, angled away from the door and leaning harder into Michael’s hands as if daring him to move them.

Geoff’s brows shoot up. “That’s really gay.”

Michael sighs harshly and sends him a half-hearted glare. “Maybe we are gay, Geoff.”

He laughs, and it sounds good, after everything they’ve been through today. "You know Ray is always down for post-heist cuddles,” he says, “no need to hide back here.”

And Michael has to smile at that, because his family are _geniuses_ in their fields, are some of the smartest people he’s ever met, but they’re real fucking stupid, too.

Geoff starts to leave, but pauses with a bandaged hand on the doorknob. “You good?” he asks, so quiet Michael isn’t sure he was meant to hear.

He glances down at Gavin, all the bruises and butterfly bandaids, but his heartbeat is steady against Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Over a month later, when the crew is finally back on their feet enough to start planning their next heist, Jack decides she’s had enough.

Surely hungover from watching the Lads the night before, she stumbles into the kitchen with a scowl already on her face. Michael barely looks up from the plans Gavin is graffiting on with what he calls handwriting, knowing better than incurring Jack’s wrath on such a morning. Ray and Ryan seem to sense the danger from the couch and turn down the volume on the TV, Ray even going so far as to mute his DS.

Gavin, on the other hand, doesn’t notice shit. “But Micool! If we go around the back, we’ll have to muck with the security cameras—”

“We’re not just going to walk through the front door, you fucking moron.”

Scrunching his nose, Gavin reaches over Michael to the other side of the kitchen island and grabs a red sharpie; he attempts to scribble out the notes Michael had just made, Michael barely knocking the pen out of his hand in time. 

Gavin squawks, accidentally launching the sharpie across the kitchen and narrowly missing Jack’s cup of coffee. “But Micool!” 

Jack turns slowly, dangerously towards the island, pinning Gavin in place with a glare. “You two are worse than a married couple,” she snaps, voice hoarse from the long night. “Fuck it out already, or I’ll kill you both myself.”

“Jack!” Ray gasps from the living room, sitting up from Ryan’s lap. “Don’t interfere with the betting—”

Something snaps in Michael, then. Decides it’s no longer funny trying to fool them all.

He throws up his hands and crabs Gavin by the front of his shirt; he lays a rough kiss on his lips before pushing him back away and pointing at Jack. “You wouldn’t know a relationship if it bit you in the scrotum.”

Gavin smiles stupidly in the stunned silence of the crew, and Geoff must have finally rolled out of bed for the soft squeak of surprise from the doorway. 

Ryan meekly says, “Did I win?”

“I don’t know, Ryan,” Michael bites. “Did you bet on us having met ten years ago?”

“Wait,” Geoff says, rubbing over his face quickly. “You’ve known Gav since. . .?”

“The Roosters, yeah.”

Gavin flings himself over Michael’s shoulders, draping himself there comfortably. “Longer than you, Geoffry!”

“‘Been together since Burnie punted his British cunt to Los Santos for good,” Michael sighs, a throbbing headache building in his temples. 

“Wait, like actually?”

“Yes, Ray. Like actually.”

He does feel a little bad about the absolutely lost expression on Ray’s face, but it quickly fades when he opens his mouth. “Are you. Are you married?”

“When they legalise equal marriage, let me know. Fucking moron.”

“Aw, Micool, was that a proposal?”

“Look me in the eye and ask me that again.”

And then absolutely none of them tell Jeremy.

**Author's Note:**

> (alternatively: Jeremy is the only one that gets it right away)


End file.
